Come Back Home
by Anjelle
Summary: The bond between a first mate and captain runs deep, none more so than between the phoenix and the most powerful man in the world. However, the circumstances surrounding their partnership were... complex. Their encounter in the Grand Line was a shock for both... for very different reasons. It all started on a little island in West Blue. [No pairings. Set before canon.]
1. Chapter 1

**So this story isn't even based on headcanon. It's just a random idea I had a while back and thought was interesting. I wrote this a little over half a year ago and I have the next 4 chapters written (the story's short at 10-15 chapters) and I thought I'd post this one before I finished because I wanted to see what you guys thought of it, if you would be interested in reading the rest. So, here ya go!**

* * *

A crushing blow came to his side after he doubled over and the sweet tang of blood assaulted his taste buds as it pooled in his mouth, slowly trailing out the corner of his lips. He winced and gripped the tender skin left behind from the blow and spat the liquid out before he chanced choking on it. Looking up with squinted, agonized eyes, he made out the blurred figures of the group standing over him, laughing as the one who kicked him prepared to continue with the beating.

"Oi," called a voice off in the distance. He barely made out the distain it carried in its tone. The boys above him all turned their heads sharply, faces contorting into shock and fear. "Leave him alone," that same voice commanded sternly.

"Crap, it's Marco!" one shouted shakily.

"Run!"

They all scattered, shouting profanities and threats of getting back at him some other time, revealing a tall, lean figure approaching from where they once stood. The man had a lazy gait, walking while looking off in the direction the boys ran, shaking his head and sighing. "Kids—they're like vermin." When he stopped he crouched down. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," the boy replied, forcing himself up from his side, cringing as he disturbed the bruised flesh littering his chest.

"You're hurt," Marco stated, looking over his battered form and settling his eyes on the remnants of the trail of blood coming from his lip.

"It's okay—I can take care of myself," the kid shot back. His words went unnoted.

"Come on," the older urged, taking him into his arms and hauling him into the air like a sack of grain as he stood, allowing him to rest against his chest. He didn't seem to care for the younger's protests or squirming as he ignored them and turned around, making his way back from wherever he came from. Eventually the boy's voice fell into a mumble and he realized his words were going unheard. It was only then that Marco seemed to take an interest in them. "Hm?"

Looking shyly up into Marco's blue eyes, the boy repeated, "You don't need to do this."

At first the man was silent, his curious eyes studying the expression of the one he held in his arms. Eventually, though, he allowed a warm smile to cross his features. "I want to. What kind of older brother would I be if I didn't help you yoi?" His only answer was silence. "Though I admit you're a lot of trouble," he teased.

"Oi!"

Marco laughed as his little brother's face contorted into embarrassment.

* * *

"Hold still," the blond commanded as he dabbed at the scraped skin on his brother's bottom lip.

The boy hissed as the disinfectant stung his wound. He wasn't one for pain. Marco always teased him for it and so he tried to put up a front but it never worked very well; the man could see through anything. He hated that. It was even worse as of late. As much as he tried to conceal his emotions, his stupid pineapple of an older brother always saw through him. It wasn't fair.

Marco heaved a sigh, straightening his back to look down at the child with a knowing stare.

"W-what?" he asked sharply, recognizing that look all too well.

"What's wrong yoi?" the older asked, voice much softer than it was before.

He couldn't maintain eye contact and lowered his head, fixing his gaze on a spot on the floor. "'S nothing," he stated, knowing that his sibling already caught his lie. He didn't want to say. He didn't want to burden him.

After staring at his brother for some time, Marco collapsed on the couch beside him and allowed his body to sink into the cushion, resting his head on the back and closing his eyes. The boy stared curiously at him, waiting for him to speak, before he was finally granted his wish. "Maybe I'll stay here a while longer."

His heart sank and he felt a heavy wave of guilt slap him in the face. "…What?"

The blond's narrow eyes settled on him, looking him over before once more closing as he relaxed back into the couch. "Ten's too young to be left on your own. You need me yoi."

"No!" he shouted it retort, desperate to get his brother to change his mind. He didn't want to be a burden—didn't want to hold him back any longer. It was because of him that Marco had waited to set out on his journey, even though it had been his dream for as long as either of them could remember. He stayed behind and resigned himself to remain on the island to care for his younger sibling because they only had each other. He raised him and, as much as he hated it, was ready to give up anything for him. But the boy didn't like that. He wanted his big brother, who meant more to him than anyone else in the world, to get to leave like always wanted. "…I'll be fine."

Again, Marco sighed. "I wouldn't be saying that after getting beat up yoi."

"They started it!" he defended childishly.

"What was it about this time?"

Suddenly the room fell silent. He clenched his fists as the memories of nigh an hour earlier flashed through his mind. "…They said you were a coward."

Marco raised an eyebrow at that, giving his brother a curious glance. "Oh?" He wasn't at all fazed by the attempted insult but seemed interested in further explanation from the child.

His mouth twitched, urging him to say more even though he didn't want to. "Al's brother turned seventeen and set sail. They said that you didn't because you're too scared." He glanced up, noting the indifferent expression the older wore. He didn't seem to care, but his little brother certainly did. "They're wrong."

"Hm?"

Gripping the hem of his shirt, the boy's face twisted into remorse. "It's my fault you stayed behind. That's why I want you to leave. I'm not alone. Mira's here and…"

"You want to get rid of me that badly, yoi?" the blond teased.

"That's not—" When he looked up, he saw a bemused grin crossed the blond's face. Moments later he felt a gentle, warm hand run against his scalp, disturbing his strands as it formed a soothing gesture. He allowed it when Marco moved to grab him and seat him upon his lap, holding him close against his chest in a warm embrace. Normally he would have fought and protested but, as it were, that might have been the last time they saw each other for a long, long time. He'd allow it that once, even if he felt he was being treated like a child, because he would miss that man more than words could say. They were everything to each other.

"Thanks," Marco began. "I'll go."

"Yeah?"

"But only if you can promise you'll stay out of trouble while I'm gone, yoi," he added.

"I will!"

"Really?" There was a thick layer of disbelief lacing his tone.

"I _will_," the boy repeated firmly, moving back in Marco's arms to give him a pout. He was old enough to take care of himself and he hated how his sibling always thought otherwise.

Marco's features softened and he smiled. "I'll trust you, then."

He couldn't help the tugging at his lips as joy filled him with those words and he returned the hug, taking in his warmth as strong arms enveloped him. Marco would go. He would finally set out.

…He'd miss him.

* * *

When night arrived, he found himself without sleep. Lying on his back atop his old futon, he angled his head to gawk at the night sky through the window. Moonlight seeped in from the outside world, the only thing to illuminate his dark, unfeeling chamber. For a while he didn't move and simply watched as thin, white clouds danced in front of the glowing orb in the sky.

His lip quivered.

At some point during the late, midnight hours, the weight he felt from being a burden turned to a heavy despair reminding him that, come morning, he would be alone. He couldn't remember a time when he was without his older brother—his caretaker. They were _always_ together, from the moment of his birth. How could he live without him?

Letting out a shivering, pained breath, he reminded himself that their separation wasn't permanent. Marco's dream was to sail across the world—to conquer the Grand Line. It would only be a few years. And if Marco took too long then he could just set sail and find him! He wanted to be a pirate, too, after all. It wasn't finite. It wasn't the end. He had to think of it as a new beginning. Marco was happy and so was he.

Still, the crippling loneliness he felt in that moment stretched on into the night. Brows furrowed, he fought back the thin film of water in his eyes. He wouldn't cry. What good would crying do? He was already ten; he was too old for that. To hold back the tears he fisted the blanket over his legs. The fabric bunched in his hands and was at the mercy of his grip as it tightened until his knuckles turned white.

The moon continued to stare down at him from impossibly far away. It made him feel like he was being left behind.

Finally he had enough. He tore the sheets from his body and was quickly on his feet, walking towards the door. The floorboards creaked under his weight, a wordless reminder of his escapade. He didn't know where he was going or what he wanted to do but his legs wouldn't stop and he resigned himself to follow whatever path they took. Why not? He couldn't sleep, anyways.

At first he was brought to the kitchen, his lips parched and in need of a drink. After having his fill of water, though, he didn't move back to his room. Instead his eyes lingered over the entrance to his brother's, two sides of himself fighting over what to do next. The decision wasn't hard, though, and it wasn't long before he found himself stepping closer to the wooden slab.

Slowly the door opened. He was careful not to disturb the other as he entered and snuck to his side, looking over the stupid pineapple's blanketed figure. His whole body was covered save for a blond tuff of hair and the head attached to it. Pulling his mouth into a taut line, he looked over his brother's form, knowing that in a few more hours it would fade to nothing more than a cherished memory at the back of his mind, waiting for the day they would reunite and it could become real once more.

Apparently he wasn't as quiet as he thought because his brother turned over, revealing partially-lidded eyes and that infamous knowing look. He didn't ask any questions and simply looked the child over, coming to a silent understanding.

"Come on," he commanded in a soft, soothing voice as he raised the sheets, urging the boy to slip in next time him. He smiled when his younger sibling did just that, nestling against him. Draping an arm around his waist, the soon-to-be pirate closed his eyes. "Couldn't sleep?"

"…Yeah," the boy confessed, turning away from his brother to hide the mixed emotions he knew were visible on his face. As silence fell once more, he thought. He thought about what tomorrow would bring for the two of them and how different life would be after that last night. There was so much he wanted to say—so much on his mind. His emotions were contradicting one another, one telling him it was great that his brother was finally going to travel the world and another reminding him of how alone he would feel. He wanted to voice his concerns, but there were so many to sift through and not enough time to go through them all. Finally, he couldn't help but ask, "You'll come back someday, right?"

He felt the arm around him tighten its grip ever so slightly. "Of course," he answered with certainty.

The boy relaxed a little, allowing his muscles to release the tension that built up over the last twenty-four hours. Those two words brought him more peace than he could have hoped for, knowing that his only family would one day return. He didn't want to lose the bond they had—the one formed from staying together all of those years—because he feared he would never feel that close to anyone again.

"And you won't forget about me?"

"I won't."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Satisfied, the boy smiled. "G'night, Marco."

"Good night, Edward."

* * *

***cough* e_e**

**So uh, yeah. Meet little brother Edward Newgate /shot. And this chapter. I skimmed it before posting and... my god I used to lay on the foreshadowing thick. Anyways, thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed and please remember to tell me what you think! :)**

**Adieu~**


	2. Chapter 2

**I thought now would be a good time to finally post the next chapter of the story, which was technically originally 2 chapters, but I figured with how long you guys waited you deserved a lengthier chapter! Like last time I wrote this, well, actually before I posted chapter 1. So the writing is a bit dated, but nevertheless I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Pushing through the small crowd that had formed at the harbour, Edward narrowly managed to squeeze past to arrive in front of his brother. He grinned, watching as a few surrounding Marco spoke over one another, bickering about something he paid little mind to-advice on where to head first, it sounded like. Honestly, he knew his brother wouldn't take their advice; he'd already mapped out his course.

Upon seeing him, Marco pulled himself away from the downward-spiralling debate, completely ignoring it as he stepped in front of his little brother and ruffled his hair, earning a displeased pout and groan.

"I'm going," Marco stated casually, watching as his sibling stiffened and pulled his lips taut, very obviously pushing back a myriad of feelings before settling on excitement, his grin stretching across his face. "Be good for Mira while I'm away, yoi."

The younger pouted, offended at the command. He didn't need to be taken care of anymore, and though Marco had asked for their old family friend to watch over him, he really didn't think he needed it. "I'm not a kid anymore, you know; I can take care of myself."

Marco rolled his eyes at those overused lines, words he'd heard plenty of times the older his sibling got, but the amusement never left his face. "Sure you can," he replied, lacing his words with sarcasm.

"I can!" Edward shouted in retort, huffing at his brother's lack of trust before quieting, allowing a silent moment of thought to pass between them. He wanted to say so much, tell him so many things, but couldn't find the words and they hadn't the time. Even if he could bring to mind every little thought he wanted to send his brother off on, Marco would be gone before even half of it was uttered. But he wouldn't be back for years - the boy knew that well. That was his last chance. "Marco…"

"Hm?" The man bent down, meeting him at eye-level.

When their eyes met, Edward knew his brother could tell that he was holding back tears, causing his face to heat in embarrassment. Damn it, he'd told himself he wouldn't cry… He was getting to be too old for that. In the end he said nothing, voiced none of the thoughts on his mind, none of his hopes or concerns. Marco didn't need to be weighed down by them. Instead he grinned, looking up at his caretaker with stinging eyes. "Thanks… for everything."

Marco's features softened, his own grin fading into a warm smile, and he pulled the boy into a loose hug. "You're going to be all grown up next time I see you."

"I'll be taller than you."

Marco snorted. "You wish."

When he finished bidding everyone farewell, the pineapple boarded his small boat and began drifting off. Edward ran to the edge of the docks and waved, watching as his last remaining relative shrank into the distance. It was only when he was sure Marco could no longer see him that he sniffed and scrubbed at his eyes, remaining fixed to that point even as the boat vanished upon the horizon, its passenger long since lost from sight. Part of him wondered what to do, how things would play out, stuck there as he was. He wasn't sure what came next. The other part of him was swelling with pride, excited for the soon-to-come day when he'd see his brother's wanted poster in the paper, hear stories of his travels. He worried, too, about Marco's safety. But, well, it was Marco. He could take care of himself.

He stayed there alone, wanting the moment to stretch into infinity.

Because that was his brother.

And he was free.

* * *

Adjusting to life without his older sibling wasn't as hard as he thought. Within a matter of days he was back to normal, picking fights with the more aggravating children on the island - he'd come to the unfortunate understanding that there were plenty of those - and playing around with his friends. It… was rather uneventful. Mira took good care of him. She was a friend of the family, and they'd known each other a long while, so spending time with her wasn't all that bad. While she didn't replace his brother as his caretaker, she was there when he needed her, whether it was to get bandaged up after a scuffle with the other village kids or to have someone to talk to when his mood shifted for the worse. She was there when Marco could not be and that's what got him through those difficult first few weeks.

No matter how well he adjusted, though, his thoughts always seemed to drift back to his sibling, the adventures he went on and the places he was visiting. What was it like, out on the ocean? Had he found a crew yet? Had he reached the Grand Line? How long would it be until he sent a letter home?

Edward was energetic and cheerful throughout the day when his friends and daily tasks could keep his mind occupied, but returning to an empty house every sunset was a quick reminder of what was missing. His home felt cold. Being there was horribly unpleasant because whenever he came back and ate dinner or attempted to drift into sleep, the walls would whisper to him.

He's gone. You're all alone.

He's not coming back.

You've been forgotten.

Of course, he did his best to ignore those voices and wanted nothing more than for them to shut the hell up, but they didn't and so he just coped however he could. He'd go out with his friends more often and stay out late. Sometimes he wouldn't go home at all. Why should he? No one was waiting for him. Besides, when he was around other people he didn't think so negatively. He could forget his troubles and laugh away the hours without a care. When thoughts of Marco did cross his mind, they were filled with a sense of admiration and not wrought with dread. He was happy.

But through it all he knew that something was missing. No matter who he was with, the connection he felt before, with him, was able to drown everything out. Nothing was ever as strong or real, and it wasn't the fault of his friends, it was just...

He wanted his family back.

Several months passed like that. Most others slowly forgot about Marco in that time. Of course they would; he hadn't sent back a single letter, not a word of contact. Everyone moved on with their lives, and none seemed too inconvenienced by it. Nobody cared outside their little family. But while Edward hadn't heard one word from him since he left, he was too important to put out of mind, always in his thoughts, deep within the recesses of his mind.

Edward found himself eating breakfast alone at the kitchen table. The voices he heard before no longer fazed him, no more than a figment of the past. He'd learned to cope with the loneliness eventually, and being at home wasn't exactly pleasant, but it was… nice. It held memories.

From the front door came the sound of footsteps before the offending slab of wood was shoved open with almost enough force to remove it from its hinges. Edward blinked as he studied the panting form of Mira, her dark hair dancing as it fell in front of her face as she bent forward, trying to catch her breath. With how panicked she was, he couldn't help but worry that something was wrong.

Then he noticed the newspaper tucked protectively beneath her arm.

Edward's eyes widened on it and he hopped down from his chair, immediately rushing to grab it and flip it open, not even giving her the time to catch her breath. There it was, front and centre - the lazy grin he missed so much.

Unknown Pirate Crew Annihilates Marine Fleet.

There, right under the heading, was his brother's face, a picture of certainty and confidence. Beneath that was the name Marco Newgate in bold, black lettering. The best part was at the very bottom, though—a bounty that reached thirty-five million beli. His chest swelled with amazement.

His brother was okay, and he was succeeding.

Reading over the article, savouring every word that detailed the crew's status, he learned about what his brother had been up to over the last few months. He procured a fine bunch of men to sail under him and took his time getting through West Blue, as expected. Marco wasn't one to rush things; the more the boy thought about it, the more he realized that his sibling's slow progress was just like him. He was careful, calm - inspiring. The article listed his first mate's name but provided no poster and, at the very end, declared that they had just passed through Reverse Mountain and entered the Grand Line.

Hands trembling with excitement, Edward's mouth curled into a grin, practically bouncing in place. "…He made it," he murmured, turning to the woman to give her a sudden hug. "He made it!"

"I know!"

"He's in the Grand Line!"

"I know!"

They laughed before releasing each other, and he again looked at the paper, staring fondly at the black and white printed image of Marco's face.

That was his brother, and he was so damn proud.

* * *

Two years came and went, and not one word was heard of his brother since the first bounty was released. Edward kept telling himself that it was because he was no longer sailing in West Blue, but deep down he knew there was something wrong. He did his best to push negative thoughts from his mind but the effort was in vain. Even if he tried to forget, the village kids wouldn't let him. Of course, that may have been his fault, boasting about Marco as much as he had before.

"There's no way he made it through the Grand Line," one declared with a smug look on his face, causing Edward to flinch.

"Bet he was eaten by a sea king," another added with a grin.

He spun around and pounced on the boy without warning, tackling him to the ground and pulling his fist back in preparation to knock a few teeth out of that damnable mouth of his. But he stopped. Looking down at that boy, now a panicking mess begging his friends to help, he remembered his promise to Marco - that he would keep out of trouble - and loosened his grip, lowering his fist. Of course, he hadn't exactly kept that promise throughout those two years, but… somehow now felt like a good time to start. The boy scrambled away and, after spitting a few curses, fled with his group.

Edward knelt there in silence, head lowered to face the ground. He clenched his jaw shut tight and dug his fingernails into the dirt, inwardly cursing himself. They were probably right. He hated admitting it, but his brother likely died when he entered the Grand Line. Wasn't that always the story? Aspiring pirates, sailors, most people didn't make it back after going there. Only the best of sailors braved it. But he thought Marco could make it. He was so sure that he would pull through. Marco was invincible. He was…

A light touch to his shoulder brought him away from his thoughts. He looked up, met with Mira's concerned face.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice gentle and soothing as it always was.

He couldn't hold it back anymore. Wrapping the woman in his arms, hiding his face in her shirt, he sobbed.

Marco never came back.

Liar.

* * *

Ten years.

Ten long, hard years passed until the day came when Edward was to begin a journey of his own. So much happened over the span of a decade; if Marco were there, he probably wouldn't have recognized him. He changed a lot. He'd grown into a very calm man, relaxed - a trait he liked to think he shared with his sibling. And, much to his amusement, he'd grown quite a bit over those ten years; were Marco there, he would have been the shorter sibling.

The crowd that gathered for his departure was much smaller than the one present when his brother left the village. That was fine. He didn't mind. There was a chance he would never see that village again, anyways. He had no reason to return. Sure Mira was there and he got along with some others but… they would understand. There was nothing there for him and they all knew that.

Turning to gaze out at the sea, he felt excitement swell within him. Beyond that vast ocean lied his brother, likely long gone. But he wasn't bitter. No, he would face the truth head-on. He would see his brother's dream through to the end. But he also had something he wished to search for during his time at sea. He hoped to find it one day.

"Ed," called a familiar, sweet voice.

The blond looked down to his left at the older woman, now dwarfed by his size. Only a scant few years earlier, she'd been taller. Time changed so much…

"Be careful, alright?"

He smiled. "I will be."

"You better be," she said in a threatening tone. "And I better hear from you often. After what happened to-" She stopped herself before she could say any more, silently reflected on her words before continuing her thought. "I want to know you're safe."

He smiled, giving a curt nod. Could he blame her for worrying? Not at all. Marco vanished without warning; she feared he would, too.

"Hey," she began.

"Hm?"

"What is it you're going to search for?"

He didn't need to think about it. Closing his eyes, he allowed his grin to broaden as he listened to the waves rolling against the deck, a sound that would soon meld into his everyday life. That was the life he would lead from that moment on. Those were sounds that would soon become part of his everyday life.

"I want to find what I lost."

A family.

* * *

Chains

* * *

The sun was annoying. No matter how many years past, Marco would always hate how brightly it shone down, how it aggravated any rest he managed to get… not that he really needed to rest but, well, he wanted to. The sun disturbed him. Be it the blinding light, the burning heat or the amount of people it brought to wander about, he couldn't stand it.

And he never would.

Bringing his right arm up, he flicked his wrist and shook the bottle in his hand, hearing the liquid swish about inside. Listening to the miniscule amount of liquor that resided within it, he sighed. It seemed that he was always running out of rum. It always vanished all too quickly, leaving him with nothing but a small canteen of water, used only for dire situations. That was not at all dire. It was too bad he lost track of how much he chugged back so quickly, but it was hard to tell how much he ingested when he couldn't get drunk.

Dropping his arm back to his side the bottle clanked against the ground, left lazily in his hand. Unable to venture to the next island until his ship was repaired and the island holding nothing of interest for him, he spent the day sleeping against a tree near the center of town. The place was busy but quiet, for the most part, and he hoped he could get in a good nap before returning to the shipwright tending to his battered vessel. The sun had changed position, however, and was glaring him in the face. He was almost asleep, too.

Suddenly he heard the energetic shouting of one of the paperboys delivering the evening news. People flocked from the market and shops to grab copies of the paper in a very orderly fashion, seeming almost robotic to him, likely due to them purchasing it each day. Rarely was he interested in it, though. He didn't concern himself with the happenings of the world. Regardless of what breaking news hit the headline that day, it wouldn't matter. Time stood still for him, so why should he care?

"Rookie from West Blue takes out marine fleet!" the paperboy shouted.

Well, that was interesting. He supposed reading it once in a while wouldn't hurt.

Absently as he purchased a copy from the nearby vendor he wondered if he met that rookie in his travels. Before he arrived in the Grand Line he made sure to visit almost every island in West Blue. Sure it slowed down his progress, but he was more for the thrill of the adventure than the result, anyways. But with how long it'd been since he was last there, he doubted the man would be familiar.

As he unrolled the newspaper, he stilled and blinked. How many years passed since he set sail?

Hurriedly he pulled it taut and looked at the top corner, scanning the date. Shocked, he realised it'd been over fifteen years since he last set foot on his home island. He sighed, guilt swelling in his chest. Edward probably forgot about him. Maybe he hated him for not keeping in contact… While he had his reasons, there was no excuse for breaking his promise. Even if he were to return it was doubtful the boy was still waiting there. That was fine. He didn't mind being hated or forgotten. It was all deserved. He wouldn't return because… he didn't want that boy to see what he had become.

Shaking his head of such dreary thoughts, his gaze scrolled down the page to the blurry black-and-white photo staring at him front and centre. It was hard to tell what the man looked like, aside from his massive size, light hair and huge grin. Below listed a series of the rookie's accomplishments as well as speculations detailing the opinions of well-known officials. It was just a bunch of sensational bullshit, but he was curious about the man nonetheless. Anyone from West Blue interested him. He wondered if maybe that pirate knew Edward, but that was unlikely.

Skimming the over-hyped bit of media garbage, he managed to pull a few facts from the dramatic words of the author. Apparently the man arrived in the Grand Line five years ago, so he wasn't really a rookie. He had been working on some pirate crew whose name Marco didn't care to remember but recently broke off to form a crew of his own, making him a rookie captain, not an actual rookie. Other than being given the epitaph Whitebeard as his only means of identification, it was a very ritualistic report holding nothing noteworthy or intriguing, much to the blond's dismay. It didn't really matter, though; he was no longer a pirate, so why should he bother keeping up with the various powers sailing about?

He gave up that life long ago.

Hearing footsteps approach Marco glanced up, attention torn from the rather drab article in his hands as a man dressed in some matter of lavish suit passed by. He wasn't what caught Marco's attention, though. No, he was much more interested in the clanking of shackles that followed so closely behind the steps.

Marco narrowed his eyes as they settled on a small boy lagging behind, metal collar clear on his neck so that every passerby would know what he was and who he belonged to. Of course, child slaves weren't very popular; they had little use because they lacked in physical strength and appeal and, as such, were rarely bought and sold. In a likely scenario he was birthed by a sex slave. There was also a possibility he was kept more for novelty than anything, in which case he was for show or used as something to amuse the noble whenever he was bored.

Though having young children as slaves was uncommon, he saw it before. It wasn't the first time and certainly wouldn't be the last. Still, he couldn't stomach it. The boy reminded him so much of Edward—not in appearance, but in expression. It made him cringe to see how broken the child looked, like he'd resigned himself to the unfair fortune that befell him. What bothered him most, though, was the infected gash at the corner of his eye. Being on the sea for so long he knew how dangerous a wound like that could get when left untreated. It seemed that neither the boy nor his owner cared, though. That was what angered him.

As the man stepped in front of him, he was quick to run his foot along the ground, tripping him just enough to lessen his grip on the chains. In one fluid motion he stood, dropping the paper into his belt loop as he pulled the shackles from the man's hand and slipped them into his own. The noble was quick to notice, though, and spun around, his face a mask of shock and confusion.

"What do you think you're doing?" he shouted, immediately pulling a gun from his suit and aiming it at Marco's head.

The people of that island weren't very friendly, were they?

He felt the boy behind him, likely the most confused there, stiffen. His breath hitched and he probably hadn't a clue what was going on. The sight of the random stranger holding his bindings getting a gun aimed at him must have been stressful. It wasn't for Marco.

"I think I'm going to let this kid go," Marco said casually, eyes retaining their usual indifference.

"What?" the man shouted in outrage. "That's my slave! Unhand it!"

He glared at the noble, ignoring the crowd beginning to congregate around them. "He's not your property and I would appreciate it if you didn't treat him as such."

At that point the man was seething. "How dare you-" His grip tightened and he pulled on the trigger.

A bang resounded around him, shocking the happenings of the town into silence. All eyes were on the strange blond whose forehead sported a fresh hole where the bullet pierced his skin, coming out cleanly through the back of his skull. Some gasped and others turned away, but the victim merely stumbled back against the force before righting himself, his expression unchanged. They all thought he was dead - that in a few short moments he would fall to the ground in a pool of his own blood.

He blinked.

Blue flames shot from his wound, licking his skin as the bullet hole started to repair itself. They all stood, faces pallid white before the panic set in and they hurried away, shouts of alarm giving the indifferent blond a twinge of irritation. Marco was used to it, though. He simply stood there, ignoring the commotion as he watched the shooter fall to the ground, scrambling away with a look of shock on his face. He was just lucky the man didn't happen to be a Celestial Dragon, else he be chased by government officials and marines.

"I'll be taking him, then. I assume you don't mind."

Without waiting for a reply he turned and scooped up the terrified slave and paced away from the town. He didn't fail to notice that the boy was too scared to even resist but ignored it. Children didn't normally know much about devil fruit abilities so he wasn't surprised. Most people weren't informed of ones as rare as his, anyway.

Setting him down against a tree on the outskirts of the city, Marco looked him over. He noticed the wounds littering his body much clearer than before. His red hair was brown from dirt and his dark eyes welled with fear and confusion. Then he saw the damaged skin surrounding the boy's cuffs and collar, realizing all too quickly that his master wasn't exactly caring.

First thing was first: remove the bindings. He'd done it before and was confident in his ability to remove them without harming him. Slowly he raised his arm, but the child flinched and pulled away until his back was flush with the tree trunk.

Eyes softening, Marco lowered his hand. "I'm not going to hurt you," he stated.

Looking up at the blond, the boy seemed confused. He swallowed heavily when he saw Marco repeat the motion but made no try to get away. Instead he just watched as a rough, calloused hand brushed against the metal enclosing his neck. He shut his eyes, scared, before hearing a series of metallic noises close to his ear. Looking once more, his eyes widened when he saw his bindings lying on the ground next to him. His head snapped back to the blond stranger whose mouth held the slightest curve of a smile.

"There," Marco began, "you're free."

Immediately he saw the child's eyes gloss over, understanding dawning all too quickly. He probably never thought he'd hear those words. It made his stomach turn, just imagining what the boy went through. Despite that, the kid was still trying to hold back his tears, putting up a strong front. Marco chuckled. The boy reminded him of Edward.

"You can cry, you know," he said in a comforting, gentle tone.

The redhead's lower lip quivered and he fisted Marco's shirt, lowering his head. The older simply continued to crouch there beside him, allowing him to let out any emotions he had, stroking his back in a soothing motion as his body trembled from the sobs. He knew his injuries had to be treated but that could wait. Allowing him a bit of relief was more important.

* * *

Replacing the medical supplies in his bag, Marco glanced at the boy sitting on his bed. After returning to the inn he was staying at he tended to the infected gash on the side of the kid's face and bandaged up his injuries. With that over and done with, he had to think of what to do with him. He supposed he could just leave him - allow him to adjust on his own. It might have been a little cruel but he didn't feel like waiting around for an additional few weeks while trying to find him a place to stay. Still, he wasn't heartless and doing that certainly wasn't for the best.

"Umm," began a tiny voice, bringing Marco from his thoughts. The boy was looking awkwardly at his bandaged arms, away from the one he was speaking to. He was likely taught not to look people in the eyes, as it was a sign of defiance. "W-what are you?"

Marco blinked before remembering their earlier adventure. He was so used to it that it became a part of everyday life. The boy wasn't, but he really didn't feel like going into detail about his ability. He hated talking about it and knew that the kid barely knew the term 'devil fruit user.' So he thought, moving to sit on a chair placed against the wall. "I'm just a human, same as you."

"But-"

"Let's just say I'm unique, yoi." Marco relaxed after seeing the boy's reluctant nod. His eyes scrolled to the brand on the boy's shoulder and his face fell into a frown. Finding someone to care for him on that island with that symbol on his body would be near impossible. They would return him to his owner at the first chance they got. He could deal with that later, though. "What's your name?"

The boy went quiet, finally looking into the blue eyes of his savior, mouth curving slightly. He looked amazed. "Thatch!"

Marco smiled. With how excited he was, he probably hadn't used that name since he was bought. The fact that he had one at all was a good sign; it meant he at least wasn't born a slave.

"Marco," he responded, patting the boy on the head. It felt nostalgic. The kid looked to be around the same age Edward was when he left his home island.

He would worry about what to do with him later. For the time, allowing him to lodge there was enough.

* * *

**And now that you have the setup, I'll leave you off here.**

**Adieu~**


End file.
